


The Forging of the Iron Lady

by VisceralComa



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Circle of Magi, F/F, Mages (Dragon Age), Templars (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23904472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VisceralComa/pseuds/VisceralComa
Summary: Vivienne's origin in the Ostwick Circle.
Relationships: Lydia/Vivienne (Dragon Age)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	The Forging of the Iron Lady

The day Vivienne arrived in the Ostwick Circle, she was but a scrap of a girl. Cheeks gaunt from prolonged hunger and skin taut over her emaciated body. Her hair, though once braided beautifully, had been neglected on the ride to Ostwick from Wycome, was tangled and whorled. The Ostwick Mages knew little of what to do and merely cut it all.

She’d been allowed nothing from home, not that they had much. Her family were impoverished merchants that could barely afford food, much less the roof over head. They were happy to be rid of the extra mouth to feed when she came into her magic one summer noon when the heat grew too much, and she summoned ice to cool her fainted mother’s brow.

She’d been too young to understand the difference in sentiments toward mages from Dairsmuid to Wycome. Yet smart enough to realize she would never see her family again when the Templars arrived.

Vivienne cried as the Templars escorted her to a carriage. A several day journey later, she was in Ostwick Circle.

She was given a bunk with the other mage children. A bed all to herself, blankets to keep her warm on cold nights, and enchanted rooms to keep cool on the hottest of days. And meals, full meals where she need not worry for her siblings, her parents, or the other children in the markets stealing from her plate. She ate her fill, almost sickening herself.

Then came the classes. Literacy, arithmancy, the Chant of Light, cursory magical lessons. Every day they were reminded of the duty of all mages.

Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over them.

A mantra they repeated, pledged to the Chant with Andraste and the Maker as their witness to their sincerity.

In the Circle, she made quick friends with her peers in the trusting innocence of youth. She became tentatively close to a young mage from Markham, Lydia.

Mages rarely used their family name; as being a mage rendered one stripped of all titles and holdings. Even if her family had land, Vivienne would be unable to claim it as her own.

Yet, a family name was the one tie to where they came from – their birthright. Vivienne had been too young to truly remember hers. Lydia remembered hers. She whispered it to Vivienne in the darkness of nightfall. When they shared bunks in a collective fear of the thunderous storms after a lesson on the Qun invasion of Ostwick. It was a secret between them, as secret as the kisses they stole in libraries and alchemy laboratory as teens.

Beyond their affair and affections for each other, there was little else to occupy their time besides study, practice, and prayer. 

With a mind for numbers and alchemy, – the one _other_ blessing her family had managed to bestow – Vivienne excelled. When put into practice, she was the envy of the Marcher Circles. An alchemical prodigy, better and even more focused than that of the Tranquil. And infinitely more valuable to the Circle.

Lydia was less than prosperous, taking instead to teaching the basics. Uplifting those younger than her, mentoring the young and consoling the fearful.

In between their studies and duties, they found time. Sequestered away behind a book they shared forbidden kisses. Indulged themselves between the stacks. Lips roaming, touch desperate, and as they brought each other pleasures only a mage’s touch could with gazes held with deep meaning they feared speak of.

Feared yes. Because the ever-listening ear of a nearby Templar was a constant threat. Other mages had been separated, by force, by death, by harrowing, by duty.

They wanted to last.

And last they did.

Once harrowed, there were requests for Vivienne’s alchemical assistance in other Circles. She declined all of them, until she could no longer.

Vivienne climbed aboard the carriage, eyes glistening with the threat of tears she absolutely forbid from falling.

“I will write, Liddy.” Vivienne vowed softly.

“Don’t be silly, Viv.” Lydia tutted. “Templars read everything.”

Vivienne smiled, sadly and grasped Lydia’s hand. “I **will** write.”

She and Lydia embraced in a farewell gesture, for at age nineteen, Vivienne was transferred to the Montsimmard Circle.

**Author's Note:**

> I have an idea for a second chapter, but it's less fleshed out in my head than this was. But basically Vivienne in the Montsimmard Circle writing letters to Lydia with a secret code, but framed as though to ask Lydia for assistance in translating some ancient alchemical text. ...I've been watching too much Gentleman Jack haven't I?


End file.
